


take me to church (offer me that deathless death).

by missgine (blueberry_muffin)



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: HAHAHAHA WELL, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, THIS IS TERRIBLY SELF INDULGENT SO IT MIGHT BE OOCISH, i had fun writing this tbh XD, right so this contain SEXUAL RELIGIOUS IMAGERY K, seriously don't like don't read, so if it squicks you out don't read it, some space /science language in there too cuz why not right lol, totally sacrilegious but ehhh whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberry_muffin/pseuds/missgine
Summary: faith (n.)1. confidence or trust in a person or thing2. belief that is not based on proof3. the obligation of loyalty or fidelity to a person, promise, engagement





	take me to church (offer me that deathless death).

**Author's Note:**

> ᕕ( ՞ ᗜ ՞ )ᕗ going to hell now guys, see ya later

They shouldn’t be here.

 

They  _ shouldn’t. _

 

And yet...

 

And yet that does little to stop Reisi from tugging harshly at Mikoto’s fiery strands, pulling his head closer instead of pushing him away. They’re never too far from each other, the other’s gravitational pull too strong, the carbon connection too real to ignore. This is the product of them, the volatile reactants, formed from combustion and heat. 

 

This is a bad idea. A playing with radiation causes cancer bad idea, they’re a  _ terrible _ idea and Reisi almost regrets that that thought gets him burning almost as hot as Mikoto’s hands do. His touch burns like the sun, aura sometimes flaring out like a star’s corona, a solar flare burning a deep and bright supergiant red. 

 

They don’t hate each other as their clans believe. Yes, they’re rivals but they’re also symbionts, perhaps even friends, ignoring the fact the both of them might want something more than friendship. That’s never said aloud-but it doesn’t need to be, not with them. They’re animal instinctual, their behavior shaped by natural selection, adaptation increasing chances of survival. 

 

This isn’t supposed to be happening, Reisi knows. He also knows that Mikoto knows that too.

 

But they can’t help it. (Can’t help that they’re star-crossed. Can’t help themselves even when they know the only possible ending for them is a supernova.)

 

They can’t help themselves from each other, can’t help the magnetic attraction that pulls them closer, that pushes them apart. Mikoto blazes like Venus-and is just as volatile. He meets Reisi head on, like the bolts of lightning that strike Jupiter’s hydrogen sea. 

 

Just thinking of what their clans would say, what they would do, is always at the back of their minds. And it scares Reisi to know that he actually might not care if they were found out. Knows he potentially will ignore any unwarranted, negative reactions like dark matter. No matter what he tries to rationalize, Reisi’s emotions are less complex and more straightforward when it comes to the Red King. Reisi feels as though he is a planet, pulling everything he can into his gravitational pull, feels like Endymion worshipping the moon, and the irony of that statement is not lost on him. Mikoto is everything opposite the cool and mercurial moon and glows like the constant sun. 

 

Mikoto attacks his mouth, kisses sloppy, movements ubiquitous and chaotic. His hands burn down Reisi’s back and through his shirt as they grab a fistful of cloth and yank upwards, untucking his shirt instantly. Just like the natural progression of things, the more Reisi tries to stay more ordered, the easier it is to make a mess out of him. Reisi is framed constellations and orderly rings while Mikoto is the ever increasing entropy.

 

Reisi shivers as warm hands immediately attach themselves to his cool skin, fingertips dragging meteors across his ribs. Reisi’s hands deftly work on unbuckling his belt, then Mikoto’s, his smooth fingers hovering just above the hem of Mikoto’s jeans, the Red King presses insistently against them. Reisi pants quietly and wetly when Mikoto pulls back; he can feel the heat of Mikoto’s palms on his biceps. Mikoto walks him backwards to the bed and when his knees hit the edge, Mikoto pushes him down and Reisi descends like a falling star.

 

Reisi could very well be a planet and Mikoto a sun, but being those things mean nothing to the pull between them; there is nothing that escapes a collapsar. 

 

-

 

Mikoto has never been a religious person - never has been and most likely never will be. While he doesn’t care for another faith, the one thing consistent about religion for him is that he never understood it. Never understood the appeal of religion. Why would someone want to pledge themselves to a higher power and leave your belief, your happiness, your  _ existence _ in their hands. Mikoto knows that he is not the man Yata or Totsuka or even Anna thinks he is. He still doesn’t understand why he has a clan so ardently loyal to him that it practically models a congregation, but he’s stopped questioning things a long time ago. There’s more important things to worry about these days. More pressing matters to attend to, like the line of Reisi’s throat, or the way his tongue flicks out to moisten his lips in a way that Mikoto is positively sure is on purpose. 

 

It’s salvation and destruction in Reisi’s arms, in the hold of his hands, in the bracket of his thighs. Mikoto is enticed by the shimmer of his eyes, glittering so temptingly in the dim lighting. Reisi’s fingers skim down his chest and he breathes in too much air that feels like too little. Reisi’s fingers are cool to the touch, like fresh rain, cleansing Mikoto of his past sins. He kneels before Reisi, between the apex of his thighs, and bows his head, devotion evident in the offerings of flower petals his mouth leaves on the expanse of a white marble neck.   

 

Mikoto delivers his faith in the press of his fingers; he doesn’t stop until he’s fucked Reisi open wide and filthy, like blood stains on white linen. He pledges his allegiance with swipes of his tongue, kisses the holy ground of Reisi’s chest, and completes his pilgrimage south.

 

Mikoto drinks from the chalice that is Reisi’s body and sees the light, is swept into the arms of the Holy Spirit and understands the Resurrection.  

 

Reisi moans into his mouth and Mikoto thinks that if the forbidden fruit tasted as heavenly as this, he cannot blame Adam or Eve for sacrificing Paradise for a taste. Mikoto is a King, if anything people flock to him, look up to him, adore him regardless of how he doesn’t want them to. But Reisi makes Mikoto want to bow down at his shrine and worship him with all that he has, whether that’s by the heat of his Red, or the heat of his body. 

 

He offers his piety through insistent touches, his faith sealed through the meeting of lips, the joining of bodies; the arch of Reisi’s spine, the quivering of his abdomen, and the flutter of his eyelashes cement Mikoto’s devotion. Reisi is the monstrance and Mikoto becomes the candles burning brightly for it.

 

The bread is eaten by his mouth, wet and sloppy kisses dragged down the pale expanse of Reisi’s neck. The wine is drunk by his ears, the blood pounding through his veins. Armageddon could break lose (Mikoto could cause it himself, surely) and yet he wouldn’t pray for anything more than to hear the sound of his name slip from between Reisi’s lips, sharp gasps warmly anointing his cheek with moisture, breath and sweat precipitating, forming hallowed rosary beads against Mikoto’s skin. 

 

This is a mass and Mikoto would like nothing more than to be enlightened, taken away on scripture verse and mesmerized by Reisi’s hymns. If Reisi’s cries are the chorus, than Mikoto grunts are the chamber chants; together they create a song even older than the Church, a song that many find easier to sing than choir. 

 

Mikoto thrusts in and he is at peace. There has never been a moment so perfect since the spark of creation itself, Mikoto believes. He will never find a sanctuary quite like this ever again, he knows. 

 

This is Mikoto kneeling down at Reisi’s altar, offering a sacrifice: himself. 

 

Mikoto fills himself like a glutton, taking and taking and taking. He will not stop if he can help it, will not stop until he is unable to continue drinking from this holy grail. He wants to gorge himself on ecstasy and gag on the rapture. 

 

Human words cannot fully encompass celestial divinity, but Mikoto tries. Mikoto presses prayers in between the seams of Reisi’s lips, holds Reisi’s hips, unyielding, and treasures everything and anything he is given like communion. 

 

Mikoto spills his devotion into Reisi, mouth tumbling out gospels.

 

Reisi lays on his back, hair splayed over the pillow like elegant ink calligraphy in old religious texts. His fist has relaxed its grip on the pillow and rests by his head, his eyes are closed and he breathes so softly though his mouth. Mikoto stares at him as though he were a deity visiting from the Kingdom to grace the earth with his presence, or perhaps a nephilim, whose angelic perfection has been sent down to spread enlightenment. The sight makes Mikoto’s chest ache, knowing he’s captured this little piece of heaven. 

 

Mikoto’s never understood religion before, but he thinks as he stares down at a panting, blissed out Reisi, that he can see the appeal, that he would devote his entire life for a scattering of moments like this again.  

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> can you see my science major and theology minor at work here guys lmao


End file.
